


A Chick Flick Mood

by spn_wincest_etc (babybrotherdean)



Series: Prompt Fills [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Sex, Lack of Communication, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/spn_wincest_etc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What, no alpha male routine tonight?”</p><p>Sam feels a little bad about that, and he noses into the fine hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. “No. Trying something different tonight, so… humour me?”</p><p>Dean’s response is to turn around in his arms, leaving them chest to chest. “I always do,” he says simply, then leans up to press their lips together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chick Flick Mood

**Author's Note:**

> _Can you write a fic where Sam is accidentally too rough with Dean in bed, and Dean doesn't say anything about it, but afterwards Sam notices and feels really guilty about it? And then the next time, he decides to take things really slow and gentle and he realizes that's the way Dean likes it? Thank you so much!! I loved the hands fic_
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> Anonymous prompt! Some miscommunication, some rough sex, some angst, some fluff, some emotional sex to make up for it all. I hope you like it!

Close calls on the job always end the same way: desperation, an insatiable need for each other. It’s been like this since they were teenagers, ever since they tumbled into their relationship, and if Sam’s honest with himself? He wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s no other way he’s able to satisfy himself that Dean’s safe anymore unless it’s with his hands, his mouth, as much physical contact as they can manage between them.

It’d been a shifter this time, a nasty one. Managed to catch Dean properly, had him for hours before Sam got there. His brother’s in one piece and the shifter’s dead, but Sam needs to make sure. He needs to.

They’ve barely made it in the door before Sam’s kicking the door shut, remembers to lock it before shoving Dean backwards, down onto the bed. Strips down like his clothes are on fire.

“Could’ve lost you,” he mumbles, climbs on top of Dean. Nearly tears the buttons off his shirt with how rough he is trying to get it off. “God, Dean, you were- you could’ve…”

Dean shifts, helps in the struggle to get himself naked. Probably doesn’t want to lose any clothes to Sam’s desperation. “I’m fine,” he insists, even his shirt comes off, reveals the cuts and bruises he’s gotten himself during the captivity.

Sam growls low in his throat when he sees them. Forces himself to focus on Dean’s jeans instead. “You’re hurt,” he says, gets the button out of the way, then the zipper, then shoves them down Dean’s hips, out of the way. His brother shifts to accommodate him, and soon, Dean’s naked, laid out for his inspection.

“I should’ve got there sooner.” Sam doesn’t give Dean a chance to reply, surges forward and catches his lips in a hard kiss. Tastes blood between them. 

He ends up flipping Dean over, hikes his hips up, grabs the lube. The prep is fast and messy, and he’s getting lined up soon, presses inside, breathes out harshly against the back of Dean’s neck.

“Could’ve lost you,” Sam mumbles again, eyes closed. He shifts slightly, gathers Dean’s wrists into one hand, pins them to the bed, then grabs his hip with the other, tight. Maybe bruising. Dean’s breath hitches, Sam tightens his grip.

Everything sort of blurs after that, choked-off whimpers, moans muffled in freckled skin. Sam comes first, releases Dean’s hips to get his brother the rest of the way there.

Neither of them have the energy to clean up. Dean slumps down first, Sam moving to lie down carefully beside him. He curls up tight to his brother’s back, noses at the nape of his neck.

Dean’s quiet. Doesn’t resist when Sam wraps an arm around him, rests a hand over his heart.

“You’re mine,” Sam says softly. “Love you.”

Dean just nods, exhales slowly. “Love you, too.”

It’s not until the next morning that Sam notices it’s the first thing his brother’s said since they got back to the room.

\--

Dean’s already up when Sam stirs the next morning, shower running in the other room. Sam decides to take his time, stretches slowly and waits for his brother to reappear.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom, he’s got a towel around his waist, which is weird enough in itself. He’s sporting a bit of a limp, too, and Sam winces in sympathy.

“Morning,” he says, clears his throat when it comes out rough. “You feelin’ alright?”

Dean shrugs, heads for his duffle. “Yeah, just a little achy. No big deal.”

It’s not until Dean starts getting dressed that Sam notices the finger-shaped bruises on his brother’s hip. The matching ones that circle his wrists, still red after being rubbed raw on the cord the shifter had been holding him with.

“Dean?”

No response. Dean digs out a pair of jeans. “I think there’s a case we can check out a little farther north. Sounds like a pretty easy spirit thing.”

“Dean.”

“Salt and burn, y’know. Something to give us a bit of a break. Had enough of being tied up for now, I think.”

Sam slides out of bed, walks up behind his brother. Wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. “Did I hurt you?”

Dean stops, finally. Doesn’t look at him. “Told you I’m fine.”

“You’re limping,” Sam can’t help but point out. His hand finds the bruises on Dean’s hip, fits his fingers against them gently. “And kinda beat up.”

A shrug. “I’m good. Seriously.”

That’s the end of the conversation, but Dean doesn’t really look him in the eye for the rest of the morning. It does nothing but cause the slowly-building guilt in Sam’s chest to fester and grow. He feels a little sick with it, and finds himself shooting sad looks at Dean through the car ride to the next town. He’s determined to fix this, whatever it is. Dean deserves better than his brother hurting him, accidentally or otherwise, and he’s going to get it.

\--

They go after the next job, burn the bones within a few hours of showing up in town. It’s textbook-easy, nothing more threatening about it than the potential of getting caught digging up the grave. Nothing of the sort happens, and they even stop at the bar for a couple celebratory beers before they head back to the motel.

Dean’s in a good mood, smiling properly again, bumping against Sam, bragging about how easy the hunt was. Sam’s smiling with him, but his attention is elsewhere. He’s pretty sure he knows what to do, how to solve this problem they’ve got, and he intends to go through with it as soon as possible.

When the door closes behind them this time, Sam’s slow. Careful. He shrugs out of his jacket, kicks off his boots, waits for Dean to do the same before coming up behind his brother, sliding his arms around Dean’s waist.

“Hey,” he murmurs, ducks down and brushes his lips against the back of Dean’s neck. “I think that hunt deserves some celebrating, huh?”

Dean leans back into him, and Sam can hear the smile in his voice. “What, no alpha male routine tonight?”

Sam feels a little bad about that, and he noses into the fine hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. “No. Trying something different tonight, so… humour me?”

Dean’s response is to turn around in his arms, leaving them chest to chest. “I always do,” he says simply, then leans up to press their lips together.

It’s been too long, Sam thinks, since he’s really taken the time to appreciate this. To properly hold Dean like this, kiss him slowly, try to puzzle out the different flavours on his tongue. Beer, something minty from hours ago. Pure, unfiltered Dean. God, but he’s missed this, and Dean seems to be right there with him.

Moving to the bed is slow, and Sam turns, goes down first so Dean can settle in his lap, a welcome weight. It’s an odd sort of role-reversal; he remembers straddling Dean like this so often when they were teenagers, but now that they’re older, Dean’s the perfect size to get on top of him, arms around his neck, breaking away from the kiss to catch his breath.

“You’re in a chick flick mood,” Dean accuses, sounds a little breathless. “Why?”

Sam smiles, not quite sheepish. “Because you deserve it.”

Before Dean can respond, Sam’s moving to get his shirt off, pulls it over his head before helping Dean with his. Once they’re both out of the way, he goes right back to kissing his brother, intent on appreciating every second of this.

He’s not sure when Dean starts the movement of his hips, but they’re grinding against each other, slow and steady, soft moans released where their lips meet. It becomes too much after a few minutes, and they break apart just long enough to get their clothes out of the way.

Sam lays Dean down underneath him once they’re back together, ducks down to kiss a line down his chest. He pays extra attention to a couple cuts and bruises, nothing out of the norm for them. They’ll be gone and replaced in a week, and they’re inconsequential.

“Love seeing you like this,” Sam murmurs, slants a glance up at his brother. Dean’s panting softly, looking down at him, blushes a little bit. “You’re goddamn gorgeous, you know?”

Dean just brings a hand up to card through Sam’s hair. “And you’re a goddamn sap,” he replies, but there’s a smile on his face, softer than normal. It’s the encouragement Sam needs to continue, and he continues his little worship of Dean’s body.

The lube comes out not long after, and Sam’s careful to take his time. His mouth is still working at Dean’s skin while the first finger teases at his entrance, pushes inside and seeks out his prostate out of sheer habit. He’s got Dean writhing under him within a moment, and he smiles. Wonders how long he can draw this out before his brother demands that he gets a move on.

He’s a few minutes in and adds a second finger when Dean apparently gets fed up with the pace. “Another one,” he says, pupils blown. “Just- want you. Sammy, please.”

Sam smiles, can’t help himself. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs, and starts working the thirst finger in. He doesn’t spend quite as much time drawing it out now, but he’s still careful to make sure his brother’s stretched properly before pulling his fingers out. He shifts up higher over Dean’s body, braces his forearm beside Dean’s head and gets himself lined up.

“Ready?”

Dean smiles, hooks a leg around Sam’s lower back to haul himself in closer. “Always,” he says simply, then leans up a little bit to seal their lips in a kiss.

It’s more than enough of an invitation, and Sam starts pressing forward as their tongues tangle together, panted breath turning into moans, his fingers curling in the bed sheets as he feels Dean gripping at his hair. They move together, in tandem, Dean rocking his hips in fractional movements to complement Sam’s forward motion, and soon they’re flush together, Dean’s ass pressed against Sam’s thighs, and they both stop to catch their breath.

“Hey,” Sam whispers, opens his eyes and smiles a bit. Brushes the tip of his nose against Dean’s gently. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles, and Sam feels his brother’s fingers raking through his hair. “You alright? You’re acting different.”

Sam shrugs. Rolls his hips shallowly. They both groan, and he presses a little closer. “Just tryin’ something out,” he murmurs. “The debrief can wait.”

The pace stays slow, an easy rolling of his hips, and Dean catches on pretty quick, meets each thrust with a movement of his own to drive Sam that much deeper, bring them that much closer together.

It’s deep and slow, thorough, not something they’ve had much of lately. It’s not hard to notice how much Dean’s enjoying himself. He’s clinging to Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in close until he can bury his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam isn’t quite used to this much contact, the affection of it, but god it he doesn’t love it.

Dean doesn’t say anything, but when his grip tightens and his breathing gets short, Sam knows his brother’s getting close. He shifts slightly, lets one of his hands slip down between their bodies.

“Almost there?” he murmurs, the words ghosting over the shell of Dean’s ear. “You feel it, big brother?”

Dean shivers under him, arches up where Sam’s hand rests flat on his belly. “Yeah,” he breathes out, gasping when Sam brushes over his prostate on a slightly harder thrust. 

Sam smiles, ducks down to brush the tip of his nose along the side of Dean’s neck. “Good.” His hand finds his brother’s cock then, grips it just tighter than loose and starts stroking. “Want you to come for me, baby. Want to see you this time.”

Whether it’s the physical stimulation that does it for him or the words whispered into his skin, it doesn’t take long for Dean to reach his climax. He clenches tight around Sam, breath hitching on something that sounds like “god, Sammy,” and spills between them, streaking both their bellies and Sam’s hand with come.

Sam works him through the orgasm, keeps moving his hips those few extra thrusts before he’s following right after his brother, a full-body shiver going through him as the feeling of Dean still tight around his cock milks the orgasm out of him.

They wind down together, all soft panting and careful adjustments until Sam’s pulling out, moves to stretch out beside his brother. He gropes blindly along the floor to the side of the bed until he finds a worn t-shirt, brings it back to gently wipe up some of their mess.

Dean moves in close of his own accord, fits himself against Sam’s chest and tucks in close. They’re quiet for a moment, a comfortable sort of silence settling between them before Sam breaks it.

“I’m sorry. About last time, I mean.”

Dean peeks over his shoulder. Grabs one of Sam’s hands and pulls his arm around his body. “It wasn’t even bad.”

“I still hurt you.” Sam frowns, hugs Dean to his chest. Can’t imagine hurting his brother.

A moment of hesitation before Dean responds. “This was good. I liked it.”

Sam hides a smile, brushes his lips against the nape of his brother’s neck. “Like it when we take it slow?” There’s teasing in his voice, but it’s gentle, playful. “We can do it like this more often, if you want.”

Dean sighs. Sam can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Only so much of your sappiness I can take at a time, kiddo.” A brief pause. Dean’s quiet when he continues. “It was nice. But if you tell anyone I said that, you won’t live to laugh about it.”

Sam does laugh, just for good measure. Maybe a little bit to piss Dean off. As long as he can give his brother what he wants- what the both of them enjoy- he can live without kissing and telling. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at allywriteswords.tumblr.com if you're interested in requests! <3


End file.
